


Oh, the wall had it coming

by Batik



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-28
Updated: 2012-09-28
Packaged: 2017-11-15 05:15:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/523549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batik/pseuds/Batik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The title pretty much sums it up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh, the wall had it coming

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [Nichellen](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Nichellen/pseuds/Nichellen)  
> for providing her beta and Brit-picking skills. (Any remaining errors are all on me.) Thanks also to Beautifulfiction [Beautifulfiction](http://archiveofourown.org/users/BeautifulFiction/pseuds/BeautifulFiction)  
> for the encouragement. (They also can be found on Tumblr at [Nichellen](http://nichellen.tumblr.com/) and [Beautifulfic](http://beautifulfic.tumblr.com/) .

“Oh, the wall had it coming,” he said.

I tell you, I have a real love/hate relationship with that man. For starters, I still haven’t figured out what I did to deserve him spray-painting a yellow smiley face on me, let alone firing shots into me. I’m not too proud to admit those bullets stung more than a little bit.

Then there are all the times when whatever “experiment” he’s doing ends up splattering God knows what on me. (We won’t even talk about what he does to the floor. Let’s just say I’m glad my accessible surface is vertical.)

So, it’s easy enough to see where the hate part of our relationship comes in.

But just when I’ve just about had it up to the ceiling with his abuse, he — his name is Sherlock, though different people tend to call him different things, depending on their (and his) mood — goes and does something nice, really incredibly nice, and I find myself loving him all over again.

Just the other day, for example, I was minding my own business, chatting up one of my support beams a bit and otherwise enjoying the calm that descends on the flat when that whirling dervish of a man is out.

Suddenly, I heard footsteps on the stairs as he and the other one …

Wait. I should tell you about the other one. People usually call him John, though they sometimes call him “doctor” or “captain”, usually with a good deal of respect. He and I? It’s pure love between us. He protects me from the “genius” as much as possible and occasionally gives me a wipe down to remove the fallout from Sherlock’s activities. He seems to appreciate that I help provide his day-to-day shelter. He’s never abused me, though I can see how Sherlock could tempt him to throw a punch my way.

Anyway, back to the footsteps on the stairs.

I was about as relaxed as I can be without taking down the whole building when I heard them, two sets of feet hurrying up 17 steps. There were no voices, but I could tell from the way the shoes hit the stairs that the men were excited, a bit high on adrenalin. (Yes, some of that deducing rubs off. Sherlock’s not the only one around here who can figure things out.)

I was optimistic that their high spirits would mean I didn’t have to worry about any abuse. (Not that it makes it acceptable in any way, but I do recognize that the worst of Sherlock’s tantrums tend to correlate to his foul moods, especially the one he calls “bored”.)

My optimism, however, didn’t prepare me for what came next. As much as I don’t know what I did to deserve bullets and spray paint, I really don’t know what I did to deserve this. Honestly, I wish I knew, because I’d do it more often, every day even.

When Sherlock burst through the door, he was already peeling that ever-present scarf of his from around his luscious neck. (The grace of that move alone can make me forgive him far more than any one thing should, really.) He shoved it into a coat pocket and whirled around as John made it across the threshold and closed the door behind him. Before John had a chance to take another step, Sherlock grabbed John’s jacket lapels and encouraged — “pushed” seems like such a harsh word, considering the outcome — him, backside first, against, well, me.

I was flabbergasted, stunned, amazed — a bit humbled even — at the sheer beauty of what I was being allowed to facilitate.

I could feel the length of John’s back — OK, so it’s not all that lengthy, but it’s quite impressive in its own right — pressed against me from shoulders to arse as Sherlock pressed against him.

John — I feel I have earned the right to use his first name, all things considered — ground back, his shoulders digging into my wallpaper as his hips thrust forward to meet Sherlock’s. Not one to be shy, Sherlock responded in kind, and John’s muscular rump was soon back in contact with me.

The back of John’s head also was pinned against me, and Sherlock’s fingers knocked into me just a bit as he ran them around one side of John’s neck and up the nape to twine in the short hair above.

Their lips met in a kiss that threatened to melt my wallpaper paste — I swear I felt the material shift just a bit under John’s bum — tongues colliding and teeth finding the lushest parts of lower  
lips for ravenous, sucking nibbles.

By virtue of surprise, Sherlock was the one in control at this point, and John simply tilted his head to one side to allow better access as Sherlock dragged his lips away and trailed moist heat along John’s neck.

When Sherlock sank his teeth into the sternocleidomastoid muscle just above John’s collar bone, John’s knees buckled a bit and he shifted more of his weight on to me for a moment. (Oh, to have had arms!)

But just for a moment.

Then John rallied, apparently pulling himself together just enough to decide what he wanted from this encounter. As Sherlock raised his head to meet John’s eyes in an appraising — if lust-hazed — gaze, John took advantage of the slight pause, shifted his weight and spun so it was Sherlock whose plush rear was gracing my wallpaper with its presence. (I’ve mentioned just how much I love John, yes? Sherlock can be a literal pain in my sheetrock, but his bum is spectacular! I digress.)

John’s sudden move caught Sherlock off-guard — hence the sudden presence of his backside on my decorative bits — and his eyes widened in surprise as a slight gasp of appreciation passed his lips. Then his momentarily stilled hands were moving again, peeling the black coat from John’s shoulders and burrowing under the edges of John’s thick jumper.

Sherlock made no move to pull the jumper off John but hurriedly pushed it up a bit, rushing long fingers across John’s ribcage and abdomen before finding his belt.

John caught Sherlock’s gasp as it left that lovely (if frequently rude) mouth and leaned into Sherlock, capturing the tail end of the breathy sound between their lips in another heated kiss. His fingers went to the buttons on Sherlock’s shirt, but he managed to get just one undone before the fabric slid from his grasp as Sherlock again broke their kiss and slid his backside down, uh, yes. Me again.

I’m pretty sure John was about to protest the loss of lip-to-lip contact when Sherlock’s lips were suddenly on another part of John’s anatomy, nuzzling at the ridge of engorged tissue visible through John’s trousers. His hands had been working at John’s belt and those talented fingers soon pushed John’s trousers and pants down — just enough that the top curve of his arse was visible above the waistband.

Sherlock then pulled John’s erection free of his lowered pants before wrapping his lips over the head and taking John fully into his mouth.

Sherlock was on his knees at this point, punctuating strong sucks of John’s shaft with occasional bobs of his head around John’s glans and flicks of his tongue along the organ’s sensitive underside. John had one hand wrapped in Sherlock’s curls and the other on me, bracing against my solidity for support.

It wasn’t long before John’s supporting arm was twitching, threatening to give way as Sherlock used his mouth to push John to the edge. John let out a strangled noise and his other hand tightened in Sherlock’s hair in warning.

Sherlock didn’t pull back, simply sucking John deeper into his mouth as John came. John untangled his hand from Sherlock’s hair to press it against me for added support as his muscles spasmed. Through the flats of his palms and tips of his fingers as they splayed and clenched against me, I could feel the waves of John’s orgasm as they rocked through him. The brush of Sherlock’s curls against me followed momentarily as he finally pulled off John and leaned back.

John took a long moment to steady his twitching arms and seemed just about ready to straighten himself when Sherlock’s lips curled mischievously. He wrapped his fingers around John’s cock and gave it one last languorous tug from root to tip.

The pressure on John’s now overly sensitive cock made John’s arms finish giving out, and he buckled against me, his head falling against one forearm as Sherlock’s stroke pulled forth a last few drops of ejaculate.

Ejaculate that landed on me.

To say that I, for once, didn’t mind that Sherlock was again responsible for staining my wallpaper is an understatement.

To say that what he did next made me forgive both the smiley face and the bullets also would be an understatement.

For, you see, the next thing Sherlock did — after John left that last splash of fluid dripping down me — was to twist his head around and look at it.

Always curious, that one.

He then raised his eyes to meet John’s and slowly, sensuously — with a delicate flick of its pointy, moist tip — Sherlock stuck out his tongue and

licked

me

clean.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at writing Johnlock that makes it beyond the first kiss. I hope someday to write something more involved (with, say, length and a plot to go with the porn). Until then, I hope someone out there enjoys my efforts at PWP. I don't post nearly as frequently as some, but I hope to improve that, too. When I do post, I will mention it on my Tumblr at [Batik96](http://batik96.tumblr.com/) .
> 
> Meanwhile, friendly comments and constructive criticism are always welcome. Thanks for reading!


End file.
